Giaour 2
= The Giaour Part 2 = a fragment of a Turkish tale Part 2 Lines 501 - 1000 Text from the 11th Print Edition, 1814 Printed by T. Davison for J. Murray Lines 0501-0600 # It tell, and caught one stain of earth. # The cygnet nobly walks the water # So moved on earth Circassia's daughter # The loveliest bird of Franguestan! # As rears her crest the ruffled Swan, # And spurns the wave with wings of pride, # When pass the steps of stranger man # Along the banks that bound her tide; # Thus rose fair Leila's whiter neck: # Thus armed with beauty would she check # Intrusion's glance, till Folly's gaze # Shrunk from the charms it meant to praise. # Thus high and graceful was her gait; # Her heart as tender to her mate # Her mate stern Hassan, who was he? # Alas! that name was not for thee! # Stern Hassan hath a journey ta'en # With twenty vassals in his train, # Each arm'd as best becomes a man # With arquebuss and ataghan; # The chief before, as deck'd for war # Bears in his belt the scimitar # Stain'd with the best of Arnaut blood, # When in the pass the rebels stood, # And few returned to tell the tale # Of what befell in Fame's vale. # The pistols which his girdle bore # Were those that once a pasha wore, # Which still, though gemm'd and boss'd with gold, # Even robbers tremble to behold. # 'Tis said he goes to woo a bride # More true than her who left his side; # The faithless slave that broke her bower, # And, worse than faithless, for a Giaour! # The sun's last rays are on the hill, # And sparkle in the fountain rill, # Whose welcome waters cool and clear, # Draw blessings from the mountaineer; # Here may the loitering merchant Greek # Find that repose 'twere vain- to seek # In cities lodg'd too near his lord, # And trembling for his secret hoard- # Here may he rest where none can see, # In crowds a slave, in deserts free; # And with forbidden wine may stain # The bowl a Moslem must not drain. # The foremost Tartar's in the gap, # Conspicuous by his yellow cap, # The rest in lengthening line the while # Wind slowly through the long defile; # Above, the mountain rears a peak, # Where vultures whet the thirsty beak, # And their's may be a feast to-night, # Shall tempt them down ere morrow's light. # Beneath, a river's wintry stream # Has shrunk before the summer beam, # And left a channel bleak and bare, # Save shrubs that spring to perish there. # Each side the midway path there lay # Small broken crags of granite gray, # By time or mountain lightning riven, # From summits clad in mists of heaven; # For where is he that hath beheld # The peak of Liakura unveil'd? # They reach the grove of pine at last, # "Bismillah! now the peril's past; # a For yonder view the opening plain, # "And there we'll prick our steeds amain:" # The Chiaus spake, and as he said, # A bullet whistled o'er his head; # The foremost Tartar bites the ground! # Scarce had they time to check the rein # Swift from their steeds the riders bound, # But three shall never mount again, # Unseen the foes that gave the wound, # The dying ask revenge in vain. # With steel unsheath'd, and carbine bent, # Some o'er their courser's harness leant, # Half shelter'd by the steed, # Some fly behind the nearest rock, # And there await the coming shock, # Nor tamely stand to bleed # Beneath the shaft of foes unseen, # Who dare not quit their craggy screen. # Stern Hassan only from his horse # Disdains to light, and keeps his course, # Till fiery flashes in the van # Proclaim too sure the robber-clan # Have well secur'd the only way # Could now avail the promis'd prey ; # Then ctirl'd his very beard 87 with ire, # And glared his eye with fiercer fire. # "Though far and near the bullets hiss, # "Five scaped a bloodier hour than this." # And now the foe their covert quit, # And call his vassals to submit ; # Rut Hassan's frown and furious word # Are dreaded more than hostile sword, GOO # Nor of his little band a man # Resigned carbine or ataghan Lines 0601-0700 # Nor raised the craven cry, Amaun! # In fuller sight, more near and near, # The lately ambush'd foes appear, # And issuing from the grove advance, # Some who on battle charger prance. # Who leads them on with foreign brand, # Far flashing in his red right hand ? # "Tis he 'tis he I know him now, # "I know him by his pallid brow; # "I know him by the evil eye # "That aids his envious treachery; # "I know him by his jet-black barb, # "Though now array 'd in Arnaut garb, # "Apostate from his own vile faith, # "It shall not save him from the death; # "'Tis he, well met in any hour, # "Lost Leila's love accursed Giaour!" # As rolls the river into ocean, # lu sable torrent wildly streaming; # As the sea-tide's opposing motion # In azure column proudly gleaming, # Beats back the current many a rood, # In curling foam and mingling flood; # While eddying whirl, and breaking wave, # Roused by the blast of winter rave; # Through sparkling spray in thundering clash, # The lightnings of the waters flash # In aweful whiteness o'er the shore, # That shines and shakes beneath the roar; # Thus as the stream and ocean greet, # With waves that madden as they meet # Thus join the bands whom mutual wrong, # And fate and fury drive along. # The bickering sabres' shivering jar # And pealing wide or ringing near # It's echoes on the throbbing ear # The deathshot hissing from afar # The shock the shout the groan of war # Reverberate along that vale, # More suited to the shepherd's tale: # Though few the numbers their's the strife, # That neither spares nor speaks for life! # Ah! fondly youthful hearts can press, # To seize and share the dear caress; # But Love itself could never pant # For all that Beauty sighs to grant, # With half the fervour Hate bestows # Upon the last embrace of foes, # When grappling in the fight they fold # Those arms that ne'er shall lose their hold; # Friends meet to part Love laughs at faith; # True foes, once met, are joined till death! # With sabre shiver'd to the hilt, # Yet dripping with the blood he spilt; # Yet strain'd within the severed hand # Which quivers round that faithless brand; # His turban far behind him roli'd, # And cleft in twain its firmest fold; # His flowing robe by falchion torn, # And crimson as those clouds of mom # That streak'd with dusky red, portend # The day shall have a stormy end; # A stain on every bush that bore # A fragment of his palampore, # His breast with wounds unnumber'd riven, # His back to earth, his face to heaven, # Fall'ii Hassan lies his unclos'd eve # Yet lowering on his enemy, # As if the hour that seal'd his fate, # Surviving left his quenchless hate; # And o'er him bends that foe with # As dark as his that bled below, # "Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave, # "But his shall be a redder grave; # "Her spirit pointed well the steel # "Which taught that felon heart to feel. # "He call'd the Prophet, but his power # "Was vain against the vengeful Giaour: # "He called on Alla but the word # "Arose unheeded or unheard. # "Thou Paynim fool ! could Leila's prayer # "Be pass'd, and thine accorded there? # "I watch'd my time, I leagu'd with these, # "The traitor in his turn to seize; # "My wrath is wreak'd, the deed is done," # "And now I go but go alone." # The browzing camels' bells are tinkling # His Mother looked from her lattice high, # She saw the dews of eve besprinkling # The pasture green beneath her eye, # She saw the planets faintly twinkling, # " 'Tis twilight sure his train is nigh." # She could not rest in the garden-bower, # But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower # "Why comes he not ? his steeds are fleet, # "Nor shrink they from the summer heat; # "Why sends not the Bridegroom his promised gift, # "Is his heart more cold, or his barb less swift? # "Oh, false reproach ! yon Tartar now # "Has gained our nearest mountain's brow, Lines 0701-0800 # "And warily the steep descends, # "And now within the valley bends; # "And he bears the gift at his saddle bow # "How could I deem his courser slow? # "Right well my largess shall repay # "His welcome speed, and weary way." # The Tartar lighted at the gate, # But scarce upheld his fainting weight; # His swarthy visage spake distress, # But this might be from weariness; # His garb with sanguine spots was dyed, # But these might be from his courser's side; # He drew the token from his vest # Angel of Death ! 'tis Hassan's cloven crest! # His calpac rent his caftan red # "Lady, a fearful bride thy Son hath wed # "Me, not from mercy, did they spare, # "But this empurpled pledge to bear. # "Peace to the brave! whose blood is spilt # "Woe to the Giaour! for his the guilt." # A turban carv'd in coarsest stone, # A pillar with rank weeds o'ergrown, # Whereon can now be scarcely read # The Koran verse that mourns the dead; # Point out the spot where Hassan fell # A victim in that lonely dell. # There sleeps as true an Osmanlie # As e'er at Mecca bent the knee; # As ever scorn'd forbidden wine, # Or pray'd with face towards the shrine, # In orisons resumed anew # At solemn sound of "Alla Hu!" # Yet died he by a stranger's hand, # And stranger in his native land # Yet died he as in arms he stood, # And unaveng'd, at least in blood. # But him the maids of Paradise # Impatient to their halls invite, # And the dark Heaven of Houri's eyes # On him shall glance for ever bright ; # They come their kerchiefs green they wave, # And welcome with a kiss the brave! # Who falls in battle 'gainst a Giaour, # Is worthiest an immortal bower. # But thou, false Infidel! shalt writhe # Beneath avenging Monkir's scythe; # And from its torment 'scape alone # To wander round lost Eblis' throne; # And fire unquench'd, unquenchable # Around within thy heart shall dwell, # Nor ear can hear, nor tongue can tell # The tortures of that inward hell! # But first, on earth as Vampire sent, # Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent; # Then ghastly haunt thy native place, # And suck the blood of all thy race, # There from thy daughter, sister, wife, # At midnight drain the stream of life; # Yet loathe the banquet which perforce # Must feed thy livid living corse; # Thy victims ere they yet expire # Shall know the daemon for their sire, # As cursing thee, thou cursing them, # Thy flowers are wither'd on the stem. # But one that for thy crime must fall # The youngest most belov'd of all, # Shall bless thee with a. father's name # That word shall wrap thy heart in flame! # Yet must thou end thy task, and mark # Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark, # And the last glassy glance must view # Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue; # Then with unhallowed hand shalt tear # The tresses of her yellow hair, # Of which in life a lock when shorn, # Affection's fondest pledge was worn; # But now is borne away by thee, # Memorial of thine agony! # Wet with thine own best blood shall drip, # Thy gnashing tooth and haggard lip; # Then stalking to thy sullen grave # Go and with Gouls and Afrits rave; # Till these in horror shrink away # From spectre more accursed than they! # "How name ye yon lone Caloyer? # "His features I have scann'd before # "In mine own land 'tis many a year, # "Since, dashing by the lonely shore, # "I saw him urge as fleet a steed # "As ever serv'd a horseman's need. # "But once I saw that face yet then # "It was so mark'd with inward pain # "I could not pass it by again; # "It breathes the same dark spirit now, # " As death were stamped upon his brow. # " 'Tis twice three years at summer tide # "Since first among our freres he came; # "And here it soothes him to abide # "For some dark deed he will not name. # "But never at our vesper prayer, Lines 0801-0900 # "Nor e'er before confession chair # "Kneels he, nor recks lie when arise # "Incense or anthem to the skies, 805 # "But broods within his cell alone, # "His faith and race alike unknown. # "The sea from Paynim land he crost, # "And here ascended from the coast, # "Yet seems he not of Othman race, # "But only Christian in his face: # "I'd judge him some stray renegade, # "Repentant of the change he made, # "Save that he shuns our holy shrine, # "Nor tastes the sacred bread and wine. # "Great largess to these walls he brought, # " And thus our abbot's favour bought; # "But were I Prior, not a day # " 'Should brook such stranger's further stay, # "Or pent within our penance cell # "Should doom him there for aye to dwell. # "Much in his visions mutters he # "Of maiden ? whelmed beneath the sea; # "Of sabres clashing foemen flying, # "Wrongs aveng'd and Moslem dying. # "On cliff he hath been known to stand, # "And rave as to some bloody hand # "Fresh sever'd from its parent limb, # "Invisible to all but him, # "Which beckons onward to his grave, # "And lures to leap into the wave." # Dark and unearthly is the scowl # That glares beneath his dusky cowl # The flash of that dilating eye # Reveals too much of times gone by # Though varying indistinct its hue, # Oft will his glance the gazer rue # For in it lurks that nameless spell # Which speaks itself unspeakable # A spirit yet unquelled and high # That claims and keeps ascendancy, # And like the bird whose pinions quake # But cannot fly the gazing snake # Will others quail beneath his look, # Nor 'scape the glance they scarce can brook. # From him the half-affrighted Friar # When met alone would fain retire # As if that eye and bitter smile # Transferred to others fear and guile # Not oft to smile descendeth he, # And when he doth 'tis sad to see # That he but mocks at Misery. # How that pale lip will curl and quiver! # Then fix once more as if for ever # As if his sorrow or disdain # Forbade him e'er to smile again. # Well were it so such ghastly mirth # From joyaunce ne'er deriv'd its birth. # But sadder still it were to trace # What once were feelings in that face # Time hath not yet the features fixed, # But brighter traits with evil mixed # And there are hues not always faded, # Which speak a mind not all degraded # Even by the crimes through which it waded # The common crowd but see the gloom # Of wayward deeds and fitting doom # The close observer can espy # A noble soul, and lineage high. # Alas! though both bestowed in vain, # Which Grief could change and Guilt could stain # It was no vulgar tenement # To which such lofty gifts were lent, # And still with little less than dread # On such the sight is riveted. # The roofless cot decayed and rent, # Will scarce delay the passer by # The tower by war or tempest bent, # While yet may frown one battlement, # Demands and daunts the stranger's eye # Each ivied arch and pillar lone, # Pleads haughtily for glories gone! # "His floating robe around him folding, # "Slow sweeps he through the columned aisle # "With dread beheld with gloom beholding # "The rites that sanctify the pile. # "But when the anthem shakes the choir, # "And kneel the monks his steps retire # "By yonder lone and wavering torch # "His aspect glares within the porch; # "There will he pause till all is done # "And hear the prayer but utter none. # "See by the half-illumin'd wall # "His hood fly back his dark hair fall # "That pale brow wildly wreathing round, # "As if the Gorgon there had bound # "The sablest of the serpent-braid # "That o'er her fearful forehead strayed. # "For he declines the convent oath, # "And leaves those locks unhallowed growth # "But wears our garb in all beside; # "And not from piety but pride Lines 0901-1000 # "Gives wealth to walls that never heard # "Of his one holy vow nor word. # "Lo! mark ye as the harmony # "Peals louder praises to the sky # "That livid cheek that stoney air # "Of mixed defiance and despair! # "Saint Francis ! keep him from the shrine! # "Else may we dread the wrath divine # "Made manifest by awful sign. # "If ever evil angel bore # "The form of mortal, such he wore # "By all my hope of sins forgiven # "Such looks are not of earth nor heaven!" # To love the softest hearts are prone, # But such can ne'er be all his own; # Too timid in his woes to share, # Too meek to meet, or brave despair; # And sterner hearts alone may feel # The wound that time can never heal. # The rugged metal of the mine # Must burn before its surface shine, # But plung'd within the furnace-flame, # It bends and melts though still the same; # Then tempered to thy want, or will, # 'Twill serve thee to defend or kill; # A breast-plate for thine hour of need, # Or blade to bid thy foeman bleed; # But if a dagger's form it bear, # Let those who shape it's edge, beware! # Thus passion's fire, and woman's art, # Can turn and tame the sterner heart; # From these its form and tone are ta'en, # And what they make it, must remain, # But break before it bend again. # If solitude succeed to grief, # Release from pain is slight relief; # The vacant bosom's wilderness # Might thank the pang that made it less. # We loathe what none are left to share- # Even bliss 'twere woe alone to bear; # The heart once left thus desolate, # Must fly at last for ease to hate. # It is as if the dead could feel # The icy worm around them steal, # And shudder, as the reptiles creep # To revel o'er their rotting sleep # Without the power to scare away # The cold consumers of their clay! # It is as if the desart-bird, # Whose beak unlocks her bosom's stream; # To still her famish'd nestlings' scream, # Nor mourns a life to them transferr'd; # Should rend her rash devoted breast, # And find them flown her empty nest. # The keenest pangs the wretched find # Are rapture to the dreary void # The leafless desart of the mind # The waste of feelings unemploy'd # Who would be doom'd to gaze upon # A sky without a cloud or sun? # Less hideous far the tempest's roar, # Than ne'er to brave the billows more- # Thrown, when the war of winds is o'er, # A lonely wreck on fortune's shore, # 'Mid sullen calm, and silent bay, # Unseen to drop by dull decay; # Better to sink beneath the shock # Than moulder piecemeal on the rock! # "Father! thy days have pass'd in peace, # "Mid counted beads, and countless prayer; # "To bid the sins of others cease, # "Thyself without a crime or care, # "Save transient ills that all must bear, # "Has been thy lot, from youth to age, # "And thou wilt bless thee from the rage # "Of passions tierce and uncontroufd, # "Such as thy penitents unfold, # "Whose secret sins and sorrows rest # "Within thy pure and pitying breast. # "My days, though few, have pass'd below # "In much of joy, but more of woe; # "Yet still in hours of love or strife, # "I've scap'd the weariness of life; # "Now leagu'd with friends, now girt by foes, # "I loath'd the languor of repose; # "Now nothing left to love or hate, # "No more with hope or pride elate; # "I'd rather be the thing that crawls # "Most noxious o'er a dungeon's walls, # "Than pass my dull, unvarying days, # "Condemned to meditate and gaze # "Yet, lurks a wish within my breast # "For rest but not to feel 'tis rest # "Soon shall my fate that wish fulfil; # "And I shall sleep without the dream # "Of what I was, and would be still, # "Dark as to thee my deeds may seem # "My memory now is but the tomb # "Of joys long dead my hope their doom: # "Though better to have died with those Navigation Category:The Giaour Category:Lord Byron Category:Fiction Category:Full Text Category:Horror short stories